


Bleeding Out

by keyboardclicks



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:32:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyboardclicks/pseuds/keyboardclicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eric watched the ink bleed from his pen onto the paper as the bodies lay motionless before him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bleeding Out

The ink bled onto the paper as Eric made another tally-mark on the page. What was meant to be a straight and singular line bled down and blurred itself into a shape with no real name. Eric cursed under his breath; damn cheap pen.

He fanned the page and blew on it, trying to get the ink to dry so it would not splotch up the page it neighbored. A drop of the black ink dropped onto the stone pavement, right in front of his shoe, and dried from the cold. Soon, the ink dried, and Eric closed the leather bound book, pages crunching pleasantly. He tucked the book into the folds of his pea-coat, turned on the heal of his boot, and began walking away. He left two bodies, that of a woman and her son, in his dust as he walked.

The book jostled in his pocket, less secure than the souls he held within his body. He was up to three-hundred and twelve now, and was surprised that so many souls could actually fit into one body. Though they took up no room, Eric felt that he was… cramped, somehow. Not that it mattered.

There was the hiss of a match, and Eric lit a cigarette, letting the smoke keep him warm as he walked through the London winter. His eyes were cast downward in thought, focused on the tips of his boots as he walked. Alan would still be at work for another hour or so; Eric was sure he could gather another soul or two in that time. It was so rare that Alan was working when he was not, so the time was precious.

He took a heavy breath of smoke, letting his fingers steady when they began shaking. He could do this; two more little souls were nothing. He had already taken over three hundred, and he would take as many as he needed. All that mattered was Alan; everything else be damned. Still, Eric’s fingers shook. He took a note to have a bit of opium later.

Three hundred and twelve sins; he counted in the leather notebook shifting in his pea-coat. Tally-marks covering page after page in groups of five, showing the slow death of anything good Eric had within himself. He didn’t care; he didn’t care if Alan hated him, shunned him, called him a disgusting monster, so long as he was alive to do so. Alan was his light, and even if far away, would illuminate the dark void that was his life.

There were some children playing together in an alley; Eric could hear them laughing. How many? Three? Four? Maybe even five. Eric turned the corner and walked towards the laughter. He would show them his pocket watch; children liked shiny things.

…

The bodies of four children laid on the frost-bitten ground, all so peaceful that they could have been sleeping. Eric Slingby felt his conscience slowly bleeding out of him, like the ink that bled from his pen and onto the pages of his notebook. It was time to go home; his fingers were shaking and numb. Eric blamed it on the cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons.


End file.
